No Instant
by NamelessDudette
Summary: AU Rizzles. Lost love. Maura's gone and Jane's moving on. There'll be flashbacks, memories of Maura and Jane's many attempts at making good coffee. I do not own Rizzoli and Isles. Thanks for taking the time to even read this.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi there, there's another A/N at the bottom. Longer. Just saying, this IS a story about lost love. There will be Rizzles but, not in the present kind. If you get what I mean. Hmm. This is not primarily fluffy. Read the A/N at the bottom if you're not feeling brave. This is a warning.

**New A/N: **Hi there, before you read this story, please kindly read the a/n located below chapter one and two. This is a serious warning.

* * *

Our lives are like a pavement on a rainy day. Sometimes in some areas of that concrete slab, puddles form, puddles grow. With each step in the puddle, there'll be a disturbance, an intrusion, an interruption. Each ripple, a slight shudder, a minute modification to the calm, unchanging surface of the puddle. Each step, each interaction, every modification can be a blessing or a curse; a ripple or a slight dimple.

You watch the pavement, coated with rain, puddles forming and each puddle, a well of life. A well teeming with bacterium, atoms and life. So Maura has told you each and every time; you both love watching the rain. You think, for each scar, each wound you've taken, there is an equal and opposite reaction-you're one step closer to her. Each moment you've lived, adding up to a step closer to her.

You press your lips to her temple, gentle but firm. You're my reason Maura, you tell her. You're my reason.

She's awake, but she's weak. You feel her fingers flex against yours, tightening the twine, the gesture saying words so familiar-together, we are a whole. You think maybe she's jesting, maybe she's not quite gone yet, maybe, she's just going to sleep.

You press your lips to her temple. Gentler, firmer; her skin's colder. You press your lips to her temple, firmer, harder. Please Maura, please. You shudder against her. Your eyes, holding its own puddles. You feel her skin, her hair, any warmth along your cheek. You press your lips to her temple. Maura please.

You feel her finger, on your chest; she's trying to reach beneath the sternum, she's pointing to your heart beneath your chest. Her finger's the key and you know, you remember, you understand.

Always Maura, you'll always be in here. You press your hand onto your chest, enveloping her finger, her hand. You'll always be in here.

She smiles. She knows you remember. Her lips are so pale. The bridge of your nose aches and burns. They flow. She catches them, she brushes them; her fingers wiping tears. You want to freeze the moment. You want her to stop feeling cold. You want to follow, you want to never let go. You hold her closer, you want to stop the rain; you want to stop the blood flow. You want to freeze the moment; take a mental snapshot, a never forgotten moment. Teardrops are raindrops and rain is tears. Her eyes are your shelter.

She traces your eyes, she traces your lips. She pokes at your dimples, she touches your cheek. You better not serve me instant Jane, she jibes. Her voice, so weak. She smiles. Her lips pale but her eyes, you watch her eyes. Her smile, safe and alive inside. You want them to always stay alive.

No instant Jane. Be you. Okay? She asks, finger to your heart. Her cheeks losing her flush.

You nod. You understand. You watch her watching you. I'll never be leaving you, because you're always right here. You hold her hand, tightly. You press it firmly, to your chest. You'll always be right here Maura. You kiss her knuckles, her fingertips. Good coffee needs time to brew, no matter the condition. You laugh a little, your breath constricted. Each time the coffee machine makes an appearance, she glares at your pack of instant; almost every morning at breakfast. I'll meet you with a good brew Maura. I promise Maura. You whisper your promise into her hair, into her ear. No matter the condition, no instant. Maura, I love you.

You feel her hands holding yours. It'll be okay. She whispers. It'll be okay. She promises with intertwined fingers. She presses her lips to your fingers and tells each of them, words of love. She looks at you and you hear I love you Jane. Her voice, sincere but weaker and strained. You hold her. You rock her. She understands. She snuggles into you, you feel her smile against your shoulder; she's just asleep.

You are in a puddle, soaked. In rain, tears and brown-reddish stains. You do not want to call it in. You do not want them taking her. You want to sit here and hold her. You just want to hold her. She's just sleeping.

You hold her. No instant. You promise. Closer and closer. You bring her. Nearer and nearer. You hold her. Colder and further. You've promised but just for the moment, you want to pretend, that it's just rain you're sitting in. Water. That she's just sleeping. That she's just fallen asleep to the rhythm of the rain. That her eyes will flutter open and smile at you again.

You press your lips to her temple. So clammy and so cold. I'll be okay Maura, I'll be okay, I'll be seeing you later but I'll be awhile because, no instant. I promise, no instant Maura. No instant.

You press your lips to her temple, you close your eyes, you know. You feel her fingers against yours, unmoving and you know. You're sitting in a puddle, her temple to your cheek, feeling the rain and listening. A conscious pitter, a steady patter, even the rain knows. Your tears flow.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, I'm not saying that I will be successful at making you sad but this IS a story about lost love so, it will be sad. About loving, about moving on and it will be Rizzles. Through Jane, through memories and flashbacks of times with Maura. This is primarily probably, going to be sad. It'll be a nice ending though; haven't written it yet but, I will make it, the best I can, a good ending. You are not obligated to start, okay. Just, you don't even have to read this but thank you, if you do. No smiley because, after writing that above, I'm not feeling quite up to smiling. Hmm. I'm sending apologies along with some facial tissues, if you're coming along. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Hi there, please do peruse the a/n at the bottom before progressing. Well, unless you're really brave.

* * *

Your mother comes over. With breakfast, lunch and dinner. Three meals each day, three times your heart breaks. You would always be eating with her. Maura, you miss her. She's just sleeping, somewhere, for a long time, far away.

Janie, Janie. Your mother calls you. She tries for conversations but you only ever thank her. It's polite, it's manners and it's all you can bring yourself to say. You've lost the Isles that walked down the aisle to you, with you. Vows are broken, till death do us part; words no longer matter, even in death, we do not part. We are the exception. Words have lost its meaning. You thank your mother. You thank your mother for the meals. The constant reminder that there's food, there's solid food that you still have to chew. You drink beer. You drink beer and you drink water. You don't touch coffee. Grounded or instant, you don't touch coffee. You can't, not so soon. You chew, you swallow. You sip, you drink, you hydrate.

You thank your mother. She feeds you and you thank her. You just want to channel surf. You scour the shopping network for things that Maura would like. You got two of those picnic pants. One for you and for her. You've gotten a punching dummy too. Time for an upgrade you think. From bag to dummy. You scour the shopping network for pots and pans. For china to serve dinner on. You eat from the containers your mother brings food in. You chew, you swallow. You sip, you drink, you hydrate. Maura would like that vacuum you think. You would like to be in a vacuum you think. No air, no pain; no pain, no air.

Janie, I need to go back to the cafe now. Will you be okay? Your mother asks. You don't know how to answer. Of course you'll be okay. You're Jane Rizzoli and you've promised your wife no instant. She had promised it'll all be okay. But you don't feel okay. You don't know how to answer your mother and so, you give no answer. She doesn't pester for one, which is very unlike her but we're all a little different now. We've all changed a little, some more than others; Maura's taken away so much with her. It's been a week and two days without her.

The house is never empty, not for long; Ma, Frankie and Tommy sleep over, they take turns. They sleep in the guest room, you on the couch. You haven't entered the bedroom. You don't want to enter the bedroom. Sometimes even Frost buddies up with you. Watching re-runs, of games, of movies; anything that's playing, it's all just moving pictures anyway. They never leave you alone; the house is never empty except, that it is. Your mother kisses the top of your head, pats your shoulder and tells you that Tommy will come with T.J. in about an hour. She leaves the house. You're alone now. You shop some more. You buy spatulas. Wooden, titanium. You buy spatulas.

You've used your sick days, your personal days, you've done anything to get as far as possible away. From the morgue, from the bullpen, from everything that you are. Be you, she had said. How can I without you Maura? The pain and realization set in together, each vying for a crucial moment to reign victor. She's in your arms. Slick from the blood and rain. You're crying again. You're a mess again. You shop at shopping network again. Oven mitts, she'll love those.

You think that if you're a slob for a little while longer, she'll come running in. Into the living room, to live. To mind your body. To mind you. To be with you.

Frankie says that you're delusional. That he's worried about you. That they're all worried about you. You want to tell him, if in my delusions she's still there then that's where I'll be so leave a name or a number.

You shut the world out. You want to pretend a little bit longer. You're in sweats, slacks, sprawled on the couch. You are in denial. You shut the world out.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, dear reader, I sincerely mean this when I say, you don't even need to read this. This is self-expression and writing practice at its highest maximum. I am swamped in real life so I will update so slowly and that means, closure won't be written. Not as prompt as I would like it to be unfortunately. I will finish this story but updates will come as they do. I don't even know how sad this will be at the start; I kid you not. Please, sincerely, I send my apologies to the ones whom are reading this. Also, it's totally okay to abandon this fic and not read it. Thank you for braving this with me if you choose to. Thank you:)

**New A/N: **Hi there, again, by not even needing to read this, I mean the story. Please, this is fanfiction world. I'm experimenting with ideas. I apologize if it seems futile. Really, don't come along for the ride if you choose not to. I'm not going to send more warnings. This is a read it at your own choice piece. Thank you now, for the time:)


	3. Chapter 3

You shut the world out.

You shut the world out, but the world is her; she is, she was, she is your world.

You shut the world that isn't her out.

* * *

"Hi," her voice had been gentle, cautious, kind, "May I sit?"

You had wanted to say no, to tell her to go. You had been hiding out, at a spot at a stairwell. It's the perfect place, for some quiet and some space.

They had a big fight that day, your parents. A really big fight that the then you, hormonal teenager and all, could not quite repress. It was not uncommon, the arguments, their bickering. Years, they've been at it. Sure, there have been moments, moments of Frank dear, Angela honey interspaced between you bastard, what woman what, and do you never ever think about your children, this family, or even me. You were just having a bad day that day and you had needed a moment, needed space. You had gone and hidden yourself away; shut out and away from the rest of the world.

She had found you anyway.

Though then, she was still a stranger.

Still she found you anyway.

By chance, by fate, by her genius ways.

You thank her everyday.

That you had met her that day.

A spot at a stairwell, some quiet and some space.

Just for your thoughts, your tears and yourself.

So you had thought.

You had wanted to say no, to tell her to go but, you hadn't.

Maybe it had been her tone, her words or just her. You may never ever know why exactly but you hadn't said no that day, and that made all the difference, right till today.

You're Jane Rizzoli and you had then three rules:

Rule number one: Keep everyone out.

Rule number two: Sarcasm is a good shield.

Rule number three: Cheeseburgers are good comfort food.

You had nodded instead that day. She had sat down that day.

You had done a quick and hopefully inconspicuous swipe at your nose of course, wiping away snot. No one was to ever see you cry; that'll be breaking then rule number one.

She hadn't said anything though. She had just sat down, quiet. She had kept words, if any, to herself. You have never asked her why she chose quiet that day but after all these years, you had come to understand.

She's the brave one, the wiser of you both, and she probably knew enough, despite her awkward social qualms, to offer you company. To offer. To just offer and expect no returns. A quiet kind of solace took over that day. At the spot at a stairwell; it had been your hide-out, it had been your special place.

You had known who she was of course. You were classmates after all. She was the brainiac of the class. The person one would go to for homework help, notes if need be and basically, academic consults.

You and her had never crossed paths though. Unless her being in the way of your note-passing counts. She was the girl whom people turned to for, would you pass the note along that way please and that was all, that was it; that was then.

"You are...Maura Isles, right?" You tried for conversation. A feeble attempt, to come off nonchalant.

"And you're Jane Rizzoli." She had smiled, kind and knowing. Just a smile, nothing pressing.

She was quite like a geek and you were quite like a jock. The pair of you, quite exact opposites; an unlikely mix; two crowds that do not mingle, do not mix, much less meet.

You and her, her and you, are an exception though.

That day had been different.

You had been just Jane, just Jane Rizzoli and she had been Maura, just Maura Isles.

Neither a geek nor a jock.

Just two girls, two persons at a spot, sitting side by side, sharing a stairwell.

* * *

She is Maura Isles.

The girl who had sat with you.

She is Maura Isles,

the woman whom had sat with you through it all,

till now.

* * *

"Maura, do you remember the stairwell?"

Your voice small, your eyes water.

"Maura, do you remember my new rules? My replacement rules, my promises, my wedding vows? Maura?"

Your voice echoes in the empty house.

"Maura, I miss you."

Huge droplets flow.

You clasp your hands together, pretending as if she's holding yours, holding you.

You miss her hands, you miss her fingers; you miss her smiles.

You miss her and you're holding your breath, holding back tears.

You intertwine your fingers, telling yourself words so familiar.

Your intertwined fingers, tight and together.

Your intertwined fingers; _your_ intertwined fingers.

Lonely without hers.

"Maura, I need you."

Your voice breaks along with the cascades of tears.

"Maura, please sit with me again, please."

"Please."

"Please."

You plead. You beg. You call out.

To no one but yourself.

"Please."

You no longer cry.

You forget how to breathe.

You're holding back tears, you're holding back pain.

You just forget to breathe.

* * *

**A/N: **Dear reader, I have nothing but thanks. If you're here. No smiley, I'm sorry.


End file.
